The Imperfect Puppet
by CowboyHat
Summary: As artists, we all strive towards the unreachable dream of perfection. We do it for the betterment of ourselves and for our work. We blur the lines and try things that no one else has ever thought of before. But for Sasori, this went very, very wrong.
1. Chapter 1

| | **Sasori of the Red Sand**| |

_I m p e r f e c t ~ p u p p e t _

.❀.❀.

_**o1.**_

**_"Where are you?"_**

_It's a very hard thing to explain. _

_I can't feel, but the best way to describe it to those who can, I believe, is to say it was almost like a fog being lifted; the piece of wool covering your eyes slowly being unraveled string by string. For the longest time, my thoughts were scattered sentence fragments, so faint they were barely there._

_All that seemed to keep my attention there was the blinding, surreal circle of yellow light._

_After a while, of being suspended in limbo, a scraping sound floated to my ears. Just as gradually as the sound drifted to me, in the same way I started to almost feel my extensions, or rather, the branches of myself become more present._

_And I could focus._

_Thereafter, I hungrily searched for what was going on, and tried to identify that yellow, permanent fixation in my life. Since the bright light didn't hurt, I could focus on it and make out a band of white outside the yellow circle, and the near-invisible wire inside of the light bulb. Then I could see the wood and dusty stone behind that._

_The names of these previously-unidentifiable objects just came to me the more the scraping sound lingered. I didn't know when I realized it and how I managed to incorporate the new terms, since everything started to melt together as ignorance faded away._

_Scrape, scrape, and scrape… the ever-so-soft sound occurred periodically, seeming to keep lifting the fog. Then, I was blind. But the scraping continued. Later, my vision reappeared as a steady knife created my features, and I could clearly see the shaving curls fall to the floor behind the blade. _

_I could move my head slightly once my neck became more defined, and I always saw glimpses of the knife and the pale hand that guided it flawlessly. But I never saw the man behind the masterpiece—me. _

_Or, so he called me. He rarely spoke to himself, but every time my maker carved me little by little, this clearly-hummed lullaby coincided with the scarping of the knife._

"_Steady the knife, carve out the details._

_Steady the hand, the wood bend perfectly._

_Steady the focus, create my perfect masterpiece."_

_And then my wooden body jerked, and I jolted creakily up like live wire, wooden and metal hinges protesting softly against sudden movement. And before I fell back, frozen once again, I saw brilliant red hair, with eyes as brown as the bark of the wood I was originated from._

My eyes silently opened to stare at the ceiling; it had a hanging lamp much like the one from my memory. My fingers were hanging, relaxed, on top of the woolen blanket. The surface of the wood was smooth and dry, but I didn't let that fool me. I shifted my gaze to the window, confirming the passing of Suna's cold morning, afternoon sunlight fighting past the blinds and the windowpane.

I couldn't sigh like so many other people, how I instinctually wanted to, so I just shrugged my shoulders like I'd seen others do to prepare for the day.

I still was not sure as to how I could move my wooden frame; I suppose that was the compromise for not being able to move well at the start of every day. I slowly creaked upright, (my body not allowing anything quicker) stiff as a board, until I was levered into a sitting position.

I poked a foot out from under the blanket, my leg rigidly straight. I made an effort to move the joint in my knee, and it jerked down to a right angle with a loud crack. The other leg followed. I grabbed the edge of the bed to steady myself, and I tottered out of the dim, simple room.

I needed to get out into Suna's sun, away from the room, still damp and humid from the coolness of the desert nights. A regular, dry temperature enabled me to be able to move well. The tree I was carved from came from Suna's deserts; as an adaptation, it had learned to absorb whatever amount of water it could find to survive. Of course, once the wood soaks it up, it expands slightly. But that slightness is just enough to stiffen my hinges and joints.

That was why I needed to get out when I got up—not just to satiate my dimming curiosity.

The sturdy railing helped me down the stairs, and my extremities were already starting to give better to my commands. I went to the kitchen, which was as dim and old-fashioned as the entire shack of a house. The old man sitting in a rigid wooden chair was also quite old, slowly sipping his tea and staring at the ceiling.

When he heard my heavy wooden feet hit the floor, he turned to me and his eyes crinkled and shone. He smiled at me, just like any morning.

I wish my pallid, solemn expression could crack a smile back. But I could not, and I knew not why he was always to happy to see me. So I simply took off the steaming and screaming kettle and filled up his cup again.

"You woke up later than normal," he mused, his voice slow.

"Sorry, Elder Ebizo," I murmured thickly. I did not know why my heavy wooden tongue could cooperate with my mouth to form words, either; the compromise to that was definitely a lacking of eloquence and a voice normal to the standards of humans.

"No, I'm not scolding. Were your joints bothering you again?"

I nodded.

He sighed. "I would like to help with that; I did know your maker, so I somewhat know how he thinks. But… If I was to make the smallest mistake… well, let's just say that such a repair would be exclusive to your actual creator who knows your mechanisms thoroughly, and would know exactly how to do such a thing."

"The wood would still expand, however. If my limbs were slimmed, hinges adjusted anymore, I might break. It's fine. At least I _can_ move."

Elder frowned, like he had something on his mind, but he refrained from speaking again, deep in thought. He took a direct sip form the steaming cup, not flinching at its temperature.

"Elder Ebizo? You said you've know my creator. What was he like? I can barely remember anything… please tell me. You've avoided the question before." I stared solemnly on him, but I guess it had no effect, for every expression I have is identical.

He sighed, and set down the cup on the table with a soft clank. He stared off into space, his eyes practically lost behind his eyebrows, and his Sunagakure headdress casting shadows on his pale, spotted face.

"Your maker's name is Akasuna no Sasori. He was a young genius… but the poor child was without his parents. He often spent so much time with his puppets to compensate for his loneliness. He found so much joy creating a walking puppet… he even made puppets identical to his late parents."

"And didn't he found the Puppet Corps?" I asked.

"Yes," he said, surprised. "How did you know?"

I shrugged. "I heard of that name, and saw the symbol of a scorpion on some of the puppets belonging to the corps. "Sasori" means "scorpion", does it not? So his name was really Sasori? Or is it a sort of pseudonym?"

"Yes, it's his real name…" he opened his mouth, and then closed it. Then he looked shocked, recalling some of my previous words. "How did you get to the storage for the Corps?"

I just stared, not able to smile, but still dully pleased with myself. I knew it was wrong to steal out, especially into a private space belonging to the government, but what could they do? Kill a half-living _puppet _that cannot feel pain? That was my reasoning for sating my curiosity.

"I know it is tantamount to painting a bull's eye on my body, but I wanted to get out. I needed to explore something new. And if I was stoned to pieces, I could not feel it. If I was thrown from a cliff, I wouldn't feel the shatter."

"And don't you feel _emotionally_ hurt at all?"

I stayed quiet. I had not liked this fault of actually having more emotions than I probably wanted, and have been trying to get rid of it.

"It's not like I chose to become a freak—or 'astounding happening.' Why _should_ I feel hurt?" I asked out loud, but it was not necessarily for Elder Ebizo. "I don't really have too many feelings.... if I do they are sporadic."

"Perhaps if you knew others like you… but I do care for you. Please don't forget that."

I tried to smile a bit, but the carved lines of my lips would not curve upwards, try as I might.

Then, a low groan ghosted through the room. My frame rattled, vibrations from the shaking ground and ceiling creating a current through my legs, throwing me around like a doll. Elder Ebizo jumped up, but I could not move so quickly.

Motion was easier for me if I was already going. It was like inertia—it is hard for me to start or stop, and I am good once I'm already going, resisting the changes in motion.

"What is that?" I asked, calmly curious.

Then shouting sounded in the background.

"An attack," Elder murmured.

Then, a large wooden beam fell clumsily from the ceiling, carrying years' worth of old, dusty rubble. It fell right between the two of us. The force of the collision shook me up, right onto my feet; ironically, other things started to come down.

China fell out of the cabinets, breaking, chairs groaned as wood rubbed roughly against wood and tile, and the walls creaked unsurely. Ebizo had to avoid the flying shards, but I didn't. One embedded into my calf with a dull thud, and dusty air billowed throughout the house, sticking to my 'skin.'

I saw the atmosphere outside of the swinging-open door ripe with tension and excitement. My feet were drawn to it surely as my eyes were glued onto the frenzied world outside. As my hand touched the wooden molding of the door, I could hear Elder shouting.

"Don't go out there, Miyuki!"

Despite the exigent cries of my protector and caregiver, I kept going without as much as a backwards glance. _This had never happened before_. Curiosity, a yearning for knowledge, was something strange for me. I _needed_ it; something _compelled_ me forward to every new opportunity.

His cries faded as the wind and sand whipped around my ears. Some people were running, guards and shinobi shouting orders, others watching the sky. My eyes turned airborne, where most of the tension was sprouting from.

An impossibly-large bird was flying in the sky, carrying a black-clothed figure attacking a shell of sand. The sand was almost like a puppet, whipping, pulling, and retracting complexly in retaliation. Large explosions were going off, clamoring through the sky, sand and shrapnel descending to the city. It made it hard for the other shinobi to ascend to the battlefield; all they could do was watch in horror.

Suddenly, sand spread like large storm clouds over the city of Suna. The sky darkened as I felt a sense of foreboding, but I shrugged it off. I was in too much awe at this development. This insane pull made it hard to even think.

I couldn't have even imagined something like this… so much emotion and excitement wrapped into one.

The amazement was overwhelming.

A large crack, like extravagant thunder, went off, cracking the sand shield hovering above my head as a few grains fell. I shifted backwards in anticipation, and then after a long haul, the sand wall creeped over to the desert, and I could see the night sky again. And the figures in the air.

The egg-like sphere crumbled away, and a figure was suspended at the center. His body went limp with exhaustion; in short time, he sagged and fell. The giant bird—appearing to be made of clay or sand—swooped down and caught him.

But one thing made me stare at once.

Amidst all of the yelling and panic, one thing was distinctly clear.

The falling figure had striking red hair.

A realization pulsed through me; a certain empowering feeling sweeping through so strong that it giddily thrust me forward, chasing after the figures as best as my faulty, slow, marionette body could manage.

I ran—lumbered—, following the path of the bird. Pieces of sand fell off and hit my smooth, artificial cheek, but my gaze was locked on the sky.

I passed a gate I've only glanced at a few times, stumbling over the figures that were strewn haphazardly in the large split between the two cliffs, bleeding and dusty. A few groaned when my foot clumsily made contact with them; others did not make a sound.

The moment I broke through the narrow channel, I could not find the bird again amongst the even blue sky. I stood suddenly slack, all of that feeling sinking, like absorbed water suddenly bleeding back into the environment.

But then a rushing of air and the humming beat of wings crept into the space right behind me. I creakily turned around, meeting the blue eye and blonde-haired person riding the giant bird.

"Well, what do we have here, hmmm~? Another girl for 'Kazekage-sama'?" He inquired mockingly, wearing a lopsided smirk.

I stood, transfixed, as his smirk widened. Then, his face slowly morphed into a puzzled expression, soon grim as he studied and began to comprehend my facial features—the tell-tale marks of a puppet.

But I could care less. I peered past him to the man wrapped up in the curling tail wings belonging to his animal. His bright-red hair was messy; his bangs swept over his forehead, covering the tops of black-rimmed, sleep-deprived eyes.

Although they were closed, it was impossible to mistake.

Then it hit me, along with a feeling of disappointment: he was not the same man I remembered.

All of that happened in a split second, and then the blonde man moved his hand. Instantaneously, an explosion cracked right next to my left ear.

Immediately I tumbled to the ground, my limbs entangling. My vision slid hastily, and I tried to move, though dizzy. One of my arms had popped out of my socket, and the slack feeling was odd. It felt strange in this position, not as normal as being upright and intact, so I felt urged to try to reposition.

Slowly, laboriously, I started moving.

The blonde man's features were contorted into slight horrification, and moved his hand to presumably cause another explosion; however, he suddenly stopped, as if frozen by something, and backed down.

Before I could comprehend the content of another second, I was suddenly lifted from the ground. I noised slight alarm and protest as I was suspended in air, and a hand creeped up my back and tore back part of my shirt. That hand immediately found an opening in my back, and I could feel a tug of the cords in my body tighten, and then slacken so my extremities hung uselessly, even my head.

But I was still aware and awake.

My head rolled to the side, and I met the eyes of a man with spiky black hair. His eyes were hard and lifeless, like how Elder Ebizo described an executioner of olden times during the great wars.

_How did you know where that was? _I wondered, trying to ask the dead eyes.

Then there was another tug, and I was cut off from the world.

| | **Imperfect**_Puppet_**Imperfect**_Puppet _| |

{A/N: I wrote this, gosh, _how _long ago? It seems like forever. Oh well. I've always liked this idea, and I figure I can work on it every once in a while, when I'm not busy on other sites and other stories. :) Please fogive any errors, and I hope you enjoyed the beginning of this... odd fic. xD)


	2. Chapter 2

| | **Sasori of the Red Sand**| |

_I M P E R F E C T ~ P U P P E T _

.❀.❀.

_**o2.**_

"_**Who are you?"**_

Then, suddenly, everything snapped back into perspective as my cords tightened into place again. They were set like a timer; I couldn't be shut off for long. I heard Elder Ebizo say it was a defense feature, meant to protect me.

_As if I could be used in battle other than as cannon fodder,_ I'd always tell him, in what he called "poor humor."

I attempted to sit up in bed, not needing to play dead, since the room seemed empty. My hands were bound by a metal cord, and without those free extensions, I could only jackknife at the waist slightly. My shoulders clunked against the headboard of the bed in my struggle.

Upon realizing it was useless, I simply ceased my movements.

_What did I have to get up for?_ _What had I to fear if I didn't get up?_ My wooden eyelids made barely a scraping sound as they blinked over my lifeless wooden eyes. _Why do I exist?_ I asked myself again.

"I had almost forgotten about that relocking feature," a voice said, and I turned my head to the side.

The room wasn't empty; my company was merely silent as the grave.

In the chair was the lifelessly-cold man who had detached my energies from my operating features. He was sitting in a crude wooden chair I hadn't noticed before, his hand idly twisting a screw into a block of rounded wood. His eyes never looked at me, intent on the part.

Something not even into being.

But then, I was used to it. Back in the Sand Village, people often looked at lifeless things when I was around. A wall or tabletop held vastly more importance, apparently. Often when I got attention it was being chased away by people who did not care for something that was different.

But this person was different… was he not? Even I could tell there was something about the way he fought, and I hadn't even seen him do so, he seemed to have some type of control over that bomber, and was able to find my control center so quickly.

So why wasn't he paying attention to me?

"How?" I asked simply. "I thought that only a maker…my maker… would know…"

He twisted the screwdriver so tightly his steady hand flexed and shook, even when the screw could not go any further. He set the tool down after a long breath, and picked up another piece of wood, beginning the process of attaching it.

"Your mechanisms are very simple, like a beginner's puppet. It's obvious that you cannot work and move very well… and a type of model that is in the first pioneer stage generally has its control center poorly hidden. I see it all the time," he responded coldly.

I turned my head back, not finding much on his lifeless features. Staring at the planes of his masked face would be commensurable to staring at the ceiling; you can't read the milky white surface either way.

Plus, my interest in him had been somewhat doused. He didn't tell me what I hoped to hear. Most puppet masters kept the workings of their puppets a closely-guarded secret, so the small hope that I had _left_ after seeing his _black_ hair was extinguished. The compulsion for my owner was somewhat smothered at the loss of appeal in this lead.

"You're a puppet master," I said idly. He snorted, like I had just undermined him. But he confirmed with what I said.

"Yes."

He turned around to use the tabletop's surface to his benefit, so all I could see was his hunched black-cloaked back.

I looked at the intricacy of the hard wire threads woven together to form my bonds. It was like the story Elder had told me about the two quarreling sisters and the bundle of sticks. Something seemingly insignificant individually, banded together, could make something very strong.

"Does Puppet Master have a name?" I asked.

For a moment, the only response was the slight clunking of tools. I did not know whether he would answer, or if he was thinking very hard about telling me or not. Finally, his brusque voice responded.

"Why would my name have any importance to you?"

It was one of those times when most people would sigh, but then, I could not. "It wouldn't," I said, "but most people care to meet the name of someone they meet… My name's Miyuki."

I brought up my bound wrists within inches of my face, inspecting it more closely since it currently was the most interesting thing in the room. He stayed silent, and out of the corner of my eye I saw him pause for a moment and look up.

"Is there something…."

"No," he cut off shortly. "You're just strange."

I tilted my head at this stranger, but I had a more important question. He gathered his things into a bag as I spoke.

"Why am I here?"

The chair clattered as he rose with his bag underneath his arm. He made no attempt to answer, and if he did, I didn't see a thinking face on him. Never did he once look at me. And I wondered if the reason he didn't answer was because he didn't know himself.

The door slammed, and as if on cue, the wires around my wrists fell apart.

"Can you move?" The voice asked, and I realized he had not left the room, just simply slammed the door shut, though I didn't thing prying eyes would be an issue.

I looked up and set my arms at my side. I could feel as if it was once again morning, since my joins looked swollen with the absorbed water. With my arm fallen out of its socket, hanging on by a few simple red wires, I could not support myself. I looked down, and it felt like he was pressing his lips together.

The door opened and closed. This time he was gone.

I looked at the ceiling again, for no reason. For something to do, I scoped the room out again. I realized that I had failed to notice a small wooden door for a closet. And another one for a small bathroom.

I could not smile, but if I could, my wooden lips would curve up at the irony. I would not need any of these things. I did not need a large walk-in closet of clothing, like I had heard some girls did. The idea was preposterous. And since I didn't eat, I didn't need a bathroom either.

So I sat; that's all I needed to do, that's all I could do. Mirroring a toy puppet completely, my blank eyes looked down as my head drooped. I thought of how some puppets did this for all eternity. I didn't know how I felt. To me, acquiring knowledge was something I did. It's like an acquired habit, but was initially started by the compulsion.

The door unexpectedly swung open again, to reveal the man from a while ago. I didn't know how long I had sat still, but apparently long enough for him to pick something up. He had a toolbox under his arm, and the same bag. He raised an eyebrow at me, looking at me for the first time.

Even though his expression made it feel like he was looking past me, like I wasn't really there—not looking _at_ me.

"You haven't moved," he asked. Normally that sentence would be viewed as a question, but it was more of a skeptical statement.

"Why should I? I have nothing to fear from death, if that's what's pending. I can't feel pain. I can't miss the people back at the village, since I didn't have much of a bond with any of them."

There is only one compulsion I have towards finding my maker, and the other natural tendencies like gaining knowledge. Knowing this world. But I left those parts out.

"My arm's broken anyways," I said, shrugging the shoulder that wasn't damaged. "I can't move even if I wanted to."

He threw the toolbox onto the bed, banging against the headboard right next to me. My limbs slightly clattered at the force. Swiftly, with a lack of wasted movement that I wished I possessed, he strode over to the bedside. He sat down, fingers fluidly opening the box and started setting out his tools in a rapid pace.

His long fingers were beautiful, flawless. They looked like they told a story. They were _artist's fingers_, as Elder described.

I watched his fingers work with fascination, suddenly very captivating. He unfurled the package under his arm, the arm piece, and suddenly everything clicked as he started trimming the frayed wires from my shoulder and connecting them to new ones that sprouted from the cavity of the arm piece. His eyes scanned from my shoulder to the piece, never faltering as he screwed the shoulder in.

Not wanting to distract him from his work, I waited until he was settling the tools into their respective places inside the box. He tossed the broken wood that used to be my arm to the side.

"How long have I been here?" I wondered aloud.

"Two days," he said shortly.

I felt mildly surprised, my curiosity heightened. I tried to imagine how Suna must have looked, how Elder must have been fretting, but my thoughts were drawn back here. The man was captivating, if not handsome.

I thought for a moment. "How long will I remain here?"

His beady dark eyes turned, heavily setting on me with a hard leer. I waited for an answer, and when he gave one, I realized that was a look designed to frighten me into submission so I wouldn't pursue it.

I guessed maybe he didn't know, either.

"Why am I here?" I asked again.

His gaze sharpened, and his knuckles popped slightly as he squeezed his fingers together. The action was slight and almost unnoticeable, but he was all I could focus on.

"If you don't like it here, you can leave," he said curtly, slamming the lid on his tool box down, and clicking it hard into place. He swung it under his arm, turned rapidly with his cloak following him as he glided away.

I fumbled with splaying my fingers at the ledge of the bed, my new arm working worse than my old, and attempted to push myself off and walk with the ease that he possessed. I guess my conscious worked faster than my body; I almost clamored to the ground, hobbling against the wall to follow after him.

He noticed the loud protest from my water-swollen joints, and the way my fixed arm still hung limply. He paused for a moment, sparing a glance at me. After I made a clumsy way towards him, something changed about him. It wasn't his expression—that never changed—but it might have been his demeanor.

"That's not what I meant," I said.

He raised a slice of an eyebrow. "And you probably couldn't make it ten feet out of this room without falling apart on the ground and withering away in the sand."

He sighed slightly, waiting patiently for me to step beside him. He brushed his arm towards me, letting me cling lightly to his cloak sleeve to help me match his pace.

"My work is never done," he muttered, his dull eyes coolly assessing my every flawed movement. His hand settled on my shoulder, thumbing the new attachment which turned out to not work, despite the beautiful craftsmanship.

He turned again, his eyes off me. The tug of his arm left me to trail behind him dutifully. I didn't know where I was going or where he would lead me, but I strangely found, for the moment, I didn't care.

Puzzles like that could be solved later; for the moment, the cold man next to me drew most of my curiosity and attention. He was the main puzzle that I wanted to learn more and more about. Maybe it would take days or maybe it would take weeks; time was meaningless to the immortal. Things would come to me at their own pace, maybe from him himself. So long as I learned anyways.

Whether I realized it in my head or not, I didn't think I was really going to leave.

And the capability to do so didn't register as a factor to me, either.

| | **Imperfect**_Puppet_**Imperfect**_Puppet _| |


	3. Chapter 3

| | **Sasori of the Red Sand**| |

_I M P E R F E C T ~ P U P P E T _

.❀.❀.

_**o3.**_

"_**I found you."**_

"Puppet Master?"

The wind probed incessantly through the wooden bunker by the small doorway leading outside. The song of the wind and blowing sand was the only response I received. I poked my head around the door, glancing over the silent furniture.

My wooden feet clunked on the hardwood floor, and I swept through the fortification with patience. It was oddly silent, and the lacking of the barest of noises gave the space a quality of shrinking and restrictions.

Puppet Master was nowhere to be found.

I turned my head to the small tunnel towards the exit's latch. The bluster of the whipping sand was my only hint of the outside world, and I contemplated greeting it. There was a chance that he could be out, gathering materials somewhere. Wood in the desert, particularly Suna's harsh, barren lands, was extremely rare, and the fact that he was using it yesterday must have meant that he'd be running short.

I wondered if my arm would be up to the motion. The shoulder replacement he had made fit perfectly, but somehow the energy keeping me from being a stationary doll couldn't circulate through to my arm, leaving the flawless craftsmanship as nothing more than burdensome dead weight.

I discarded the doubt. It'd be worth it to be in his alluring company.

The moment my fingers reached to undo the latching, a hand grabbed my shoulder and shook it with enough force to send me stumbling. Not able to stop my own inertia, I almost slipped to the ground. But before I could fall, my knees clunked together as I was whirled around, foreign fingers clawing harshly into my shoulder.

"Where do you think you're going, hmm?"

It took a moment to recognize the man, but the wild blonde hair was hard to dislodge from my memory. Instantly I disliked him—his blue eyes were like crystalline wells, but the depth they held was something sly, something to be wary of. The set of his mouth was also something to keep an eye on—I remembered him sneering with disgust, and I knew that he disliked me as well due to an instinctual repulsion.

"Where's Puppet Master?" I asked instead, my tone polite, since I couldn't change it to anything snide.

"He's at a place where he doesn't like to be disturbed," the blond man drawled. The corners of his frown tightened, turning his mouth into a lopsided, twisted smirk. As far as I could tell, he was either mocking me, or mocking the puppet master. "And he won't like you wandering around outside playing investigator. Not that I know why…" he muttered. "If it's a puppet then it should have some fighting capability."

Did he think I was deaf?

"Perhaps a living puppet is a bit more interesting than a whining bomber," I shot back, not able to resist the mounting frustration drawing deep throughout my body. I noted the dusty sand clinging to the hem of his jacket, realizing the outdoor patrol must be his job. "Perhaps sending you out there is a nice relief for him."

At first he didn't know how to react, standing their befuddled for a moment. Slowly, anger creeped into his eyes and his fingers twitched, drawing into a tight fist. I waited for him to strike me; there were no boundaries with this man. If he could set off bombs and kidnap the Kazekage, he could disassemble me within seconds by a good punch.

"Watch your mouth, puppet," he snarled, his knuckles bone-white, "and learn some manners. You might think you're special, being saved by Danna, but in truth, you're a liability and he knows it himself. You have no purpose being here, unlike us. Realize that you're just a toy for him to play with until you just become spare parts."

"Danna?" I played with the word in my mouth. _Doesn't Danna mean husband?_

He scowled, seeing the way my head tilted humorously. "A _dull-witted_ toy. It means 'master.'"

The next words managed to click together so rapidly that I didn't have the time to hold them back with my wooden teeth. "Then you are also a toy for him, yes? Just a student, a pet he takes along for the ride due to a gracious whim?"

In the next second, a shattering sound resonated through the air. My back collided thunderously against the rock wall, the force of the impact rattling every extension of my body. Chunks of wood—woodchips, really—fell from my face. My jaw unwillingly fell slack, a screw being driven farther into a hinge and shattering the mechanism controlling the movement of my mouth. Slowly, my fingers gingerly inspected my face, brushing away the damaged wooden needles and working my jaw back into place. After a few moments, I heard a light '_pop_,' and it was fixed.

The blonde man sneered in disgust, flicking away the splinters lodge into his knuckles. He cracked his hands, loud pops subsequently following.

"You struck me because it hit a nerve, didn't it?" I inquired, working my way up onto my feet, using the wall as leverage. "You're the second-in-command, aren't you? Even you don't know for sure what he's thinking, what he's planning. But you get your kicks by trying to find as much authority as you can, even if it's the illusionary puffing out of your chest."

"Maybe I should have taken the entire jaw off," He mused sharply. "But no, Danna and I are in a partnership."

"So he only speaks to you because he has a liability to do so. Interesting," I said, shrugging. "Yet he seems to take me in when he has no clear reason to do so, even though I am a so-called liability. _Very_ interesting."

"Whether or not he'd admit it, Sasori needs me to achieve our goals, and I'm nowhere near a liability to him," he snapped, a smug grin overtaking his lethal countenance. "Sasori himself is only a puppet, so he's both vulnerable and invincible at the same time. He needs me, us, _two shinobi_, to capture our assigned bijuu."

I froze, my eyes widening. My entire train of thought was derailed, my entire plan, and a cold feeling washed over me, making speech seem nearly impossible. "Did…" I tried, the words suddenly awkward in my mouth. "…Did you just call him Sasori?"

He snorted, rolling his eyes impatiently. "Of course," he said dryly, not understanding my point.

Every joint seemed to lock into place. My eyes were as wide as they could be, but they were unfocused. I vaguely guessed that I was staring blankly ahead, more than likely creeping out Puppet Master's partner, but I was too overrun with vague feelings swirling around my conscious.

I was confused, but I was also so very excited, breathless—but then I felt a small stab of hurt. He had lied to me, never giving me his name and denying any sort of connection. Then it got me thinking: what if it's just a coincidence? He looked nothing like the man from my memories, hazy thought they may be. But then, he _was_ the most knowledgeable person I had met, puppet-wise, and the demeanor he radiated seemed to have near-tangible power thickening his presence. Someone that strong had to be someone unique.

And really, was I in any position to pass up the opportunity shoved upon me?

After a few seconds of working out this newfound knot in my conscious, I refocused my gaze back onto the blonde man. As seriously as I could muster, I stared at him and clasped my hands in front of my legs in a formal way. He didn't deserve much respect, in my opinion, but a bit of false appeasement might just abate his anger—even if it was a momentary change, it might be enough time.

"I need to see him," I said.

He didn't like to repeat himself, that much was obvious, despite seeming to like the sound of his own voice. "I told you, Danna is not to be disturbed. The last underling who tried to do so lost an eye due to his incompetence."

As coolly as I could manage, though the attempt was vain, I gave him an once-over. "I'm sure that I'm not as foolish as you," I replied, eyeing the eyepiece he wore. I figured Puppet Master wouldn't do such a thing, but bringing up a shortcoming of his might give me some leverage in my request, if appeasement wouldn't. "And perhaps you should just let Puppet Master decide."

His face grew red, an angry glint piercing me through his oceanic eyes.

"Why—!"

The rest of his curse was cut off by a terrible moaning that made the wooden structure of the bunker seem to creak under the stress. The bomber looked up sharply, his blue eyes focusing as he concentrated to assess the situation. The silence was unnerving, and the subsequent hollow thudding against the outside walls only grated on my nerves. The draw in the man's shoulders grew tense, and he scowled.

"What is that?" I asked suspiciously.

"Probably just flying debris from the sandstorm," he muttered, darkness being an obvious undercurrent in his tone.

I should have told him then that he wears his heart on his sleeve.

_Perhaps they're after the Kazekage, _I wondered. _Though, I haven't seen any trace of them._

With a silent grace I've learned to recognize in only the strongest of warriors, the blonde man breezed past me, ghosting silently through the hall. His hand grazed against the wall, as if to feel the vibrations of any movements. His hand skipped a section of wall about two feet wide, his fingers barely releasing from the wall, and he continued his assessment. His free hand inched towards the sack of clay hanging idly at his hip, and in a few more seconds, he had slipped through the exit.

I stared hard at the wall, and clunked over. I skimmed my fingers over the wall, and gave a quick push.

The wood seemed to fade away, and the barest of seams appeared in the shape of a door. The section fell away, hitting the ground with a paper-like imitation. I kneeled down with some effort, rubbing my fingers against the wood. Though I couldn't feel the substance, I could see the way it reacted to touch. It seemed to bend slightly, shrinking away from contact. It appeared to be some sort of cheap plaster, made to look like wood.

The opening seemed to lead to a narrow passage, the exact details hidden by deep shadows. Keeping my hand along the wall to steady myself, I crawled to the edge. Sharply, the wall indented to an angular corner. I thought for a moment—it made a fair amount of sense. With the dimness of the passage, coupled with the impossibly-abrupt angle of the wall, once would think this was a dead end, or a storage space of some kind; they wouldn't consider a secret compartment.

_Only Puppet Master would know exactly how to pull something this clever off. _

Skirting the corner, I stumbled into a small square room. Only a small lamp flickered bravely in the corner, batting away the dark and casting imaginary silhouettes on the wall. A large _bureau a gradin _was pushed up against the wall, Puppet Master overflowing the chair in front. His hands were working at a furious pace, fussing with something on the tabletop.

As unobtrusively as I could manage, I drew to his side, keeping a respective, non-invasive distance as I watched him work. He gave little heed to my presence, his eyes—and, dare I say, _soul_—focused on the blueprint he was sketching.

He worked in bold strokes, each one unerringly purposeful. A glide of the pencil here for a rounded curve, a sharp line for a joint there, a soft indication of a chakra network… it was fascinating, watching the idea that his mind created become tangible on paper. It became a window to his thoughts—what went on inside his head was something he wasn't ever inclined to share, and with each glimpse I became more and more intrigued.

I waited patiently, not feeling the need to rush into asking questions. The movement of the pencil was soothing to watch, and just being in his company and _knowing_ it was him made it enough.

I looked him over—bulky, uncomely, and icy in demeanor. What the blonde man had said—him being just a puppet—made a lot of sense. Though he was far more advanced than I, what with his control over emotion and movement, there was something similar between us. The same blank look in his eyes, that hard, impenetrable wall, came from the solidness of painted wood—like myself. Lifelike though it may be, the essence of the wood itself could never fully personify. And who he was also seemed fitting—for someone so in-tune with puppetry, it would make sense that he literally immersed himself in it.

In the matter of minutes, the sketch was completed.

He straightened his back from the hunched position, flicking the pencil to the side.

"Sasori?" I asked tentatively, the word feeling like something precious in my mouth.

Slowly, his gaze slid over to me. The beady black eyes scrutinized me with a usual oppressiveness, but at this point, I let it roll off me. When he said nothing, I gathered my courage. Slowly, my clumsy fingers moved to his face, gently brushing over his rough cheekbones. Sliding my fingers back, I felt for the knot that kept the mask around his face. It fell moments later, exposing the crude indications of a puppet.

I titled my head, thinking deeply as my fingers wandered. I probed behind his neck, feeling the stocky expanse of his broad shoulders. I rubbed my fingers over the mock skin, searching desperately for _something_. I pulled myself closer, running my hand over his back. I avoided his gaze, which watched me guardedly.

Suddenly, I felt something crack as I ran a finger over his spine. A loud pop followed, and his very image began crumbling before me. His face fell away, large black cloak slipping off his shoulders and down to the floor. Every awkward feature about him seemed to melt to the floor, like a puzzle falling apart piece by piece.

What was left from the shell was a flawless porcelain face, a mane of brilliant red hair, and deep mahogany eyes.

| | **Imperfect**_Puppet_**Imperfect**_Puppet _| |

{A/N: I think I enjoyed writing that pissing contest with Deidara _far_ too much. Oh, and I think I might have duped the perverts in the room by the ending, or at least for a little while. x3

And remember:

Reviews= love.

Tell me what you liked, tell me what Im' doing wrong. I don't want to make a fool out of myself, you know, even though the story is _supposed _to be weird. :3}


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